


Dance 'Till You're Dead

by aphroditesdove



Series: Oneshots [3]
Category: Bring Me The Horizon
Genre: Jordan and Oliver slow dance, M/M, Nobody dies I just like the Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 11:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18637108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphroditesdove/pseuds/aphroditesdove
Summary: Oliver is very bored with a fancy party and Jordan likes dancing.





	Dance 'Till You're Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Ripped the title from Heads Will Roll by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs because they're really good. Here's more Jordan/Oliver content because someone asked me about it once but I don't remember who or when. Oops. Also the randomly interspersed lyrics are from Wedding Song (also by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs).

**_narrative_ **

 

Oliver is about one hundred percent ready to go home and get drunk in his boxers while watching Netflix. But until he gets an a-okay from his dad, he’s stuck sitting at this stupid party in a corner of some kind of overdone ballroom, sipping vodka from a champagne flute and fiddling with the top buttons of his shirt.

“Stop looking so suspicious,” Tom whispers, stealing a sip from Oliver’s flute. “Fuck! What the hell?”

Oliver laughs dryly. “Lightweight,” he scoffs. Tom rolls his eyes and dips his finger into his own glass, flicking a few drops of champagne at Oliver.

“Just don’t get too drunk, alright?” Tom says, clapping Oliver on the shoulder. He grunts in response. Tom chuckles, before walking off to chat to a petite blonde woman standing at the corner of the bar. As soon as Tom leaves, someone takes the seat across from Oliver.

“This is quite dull,” they say. “Spare a sip of vodka, mate?” Oliver looks up, and locks eyes with a  svelte, brunet man wearing a charcoal grey suit. He slides his tumbler across the small table, arching an eyebrow. Oliver grunts again, and pours a little vodka out of his flute into the man’s glass.

The man thanks him, takes a sip, and sighs. “Fuck, that’s good,” he says, shooting Oliver a sly grin. He sits up, directly making eye contact.

“My name’s Jordan. You?” He says, leaning slightly across the table.

“Oliver.”

They made small talk for a few minutes, before Jordan sits forward on his seat and made eye contact.

“Care for a dance?” He asks, a little smirk playing on his lips. Oliver sighs, rolls his eyes, and mirrors Jordan’s smile.

“Fine.” He says. Jordan grins and stands up, grabbing Oliver’s hand. He drags him from the back table to the dance floor, and as the song changes to a slow song, he drapes his arms around Oliver’s shoulders and sways slightly to the music. Oliver grins and rests his hands on Jordan’s hips, swaying with him.

 

_With every breath I breathe_

_I’m making history_

_With your name on my lips_

_The ages fall to bits_

 

Oliver rolls his eyes as Jordan pulls him closer by his neck, the same little smirk dancing around his mouth. The little pure cerulean flecks in his eyes light up, and Oliver almost grins.

“You’re pretty cute.” Jordan says.

“You’re not too bad yourself.” Oliver replies, cocking his head to the side.

“Thanks.” Jordan whispers. Oliver sways them towards the edge of the dance floor and ducks his head, pressing his lips against Jordan’s. Jordan feels his arms and legs lock up a little, and he stands there in shock and Oliver pulls away and immediately starts to apologize, and Jordan just shuts him up by leaning in and kissing him again.

They’re interrupted by a soft cough.

“We’re heading out now.” Tom says, awkwardly trying to erase the image of his brother and this random blue-eyed man sucking each other’s faces off from his brain.

“Oh… Uh… Yeah, I’ll be a minute.” Oliver stutters. Tom sighs and rolls his eyes and walks away, and Jordan giggles. He grabs Oliver’s arm and turns his hand over so it’s palm-up. He takes a marker out of his pocket and writes a little series of numbers on Oliver’s palm.

“Call me sometime. I wouldn’t mind kissing you again.” Jordan says, pecking Oliver on the cheek.

Oliver has to practically force himself out of the ballroom, and as soon as he’s in the backseat of the car his parents rented, he sends Jordan a text.

‘hi, it’s oli,’ the message reads. ‘you free saturday @ 7:30?’

 

 _In flames I sleep soundly_  
_With angels around me_  
_I lay at your feet_  
_You're the breath that I breathe_  



End file.
